Author's Notes: Sorry to take so long to update, there was a situation I had to deal with. I'll try to turn these chapters out quickly and update my fairy tale fics shortly. I'm almost done with Beauty and the Geese's next chapter, and mostly completed the one after that.
Disclaimer: I have no legal claim or financial gain to Hellsing. I also give full credit to Master of the Boot and his fanfic "All the Pretty Things" for inspiring this story in the first place.
Seras tried putting her entire visit to the dungeons out of her mind, but she just kept feeling haunted by that dark corridor, those doomed men, and that injured human.
It was just so gloomy and horrible. She wished there was something she could do, but she couldn't even stop vampire men up here from striking at chamber maids who pleaded mercy on account of their children. Well, she could, but it brought the wrath of the entire vampire court down on her, brought her own master down on Seras' head, the chamber maid was relocated to the vampire man's castle where he had easier access to her away from Seras, and ultimately nothing changed.
Yet, at the same time, she thought of that red-haired human that looked so used up. Like a used rag ready to be thrown away.
Seras remembered Narissa's words. "I doubt he'll last the week. Few of them do."
Seras shuddered. She felt so awful, and almost responsible for doing nothing. Even if she couldn't change the lives of everyone down there (she could only imagine approaching her master on the subject, and almost see his mocking and/or contemptuous response), she felt there was something she could do for individuals. Like seeing a stray dog or cat and choosing to take it in or make the call to the shelter. Even if you can't save all dogs and cats from the streets, you can do something for the one right in front of you.
And Seras had seen the injured human right in front of her.
She didn't even know why she was thinking about him personally. Perhaps it was pity because he was so injured. Indignation that he had caught her staring and looked at her with such contempt, like he guessed what she was thinking and felt ready to sneer at her for it.
But Seras didn't think it was pity. Not fully. He looked so lethargic and injured, like his heart would stop beating and his lungs would stop breathing because it was too much trouble to bother. Like he would drape dramatically back, let out his final breath, and rest in peace. (Now she understood what that phrase meant.)
Yet... there was an underlying forcefulness, an energy she could not describe. Despite how weak he looked, his heart pumped with conviction, his lungs with decision. His eyes were physically glazed from pain and exhaustion, yet they were as sharp as a wolf's. He looked at her with precision, and she had no doubt his mind was sharp as a tack when properly fed and rested.
Seras couldn't describe it, couldn't put her finger on it, and that's probably why it drove her so nuts.
She had no idea what she found so fascinating about this man.
After a few days of restlessness, she called one of the typists over.
"Molly, would you go to Narissa and ask if the man in the last door to the left is available?" Seras asked, almost on impulse.
Molly looked at her oddly. "The what?"
"The... man in the dungeon..." Seras felt stupid now. "Um, talk Narissa, and ask if... the man in the last door to the left is available..."
Molly still looked at her strangely, so Seras snapped, "NOW!" And she scooted off.
Seras sighed, then realized that was the first time she had ever given an order. She had always been submissive and followed orders, as all children are to adults, rookie cops are to their senior officers, and all humans are to vampires. She considered it a mark of her personal identity, and humanity. Now, giving orders like the vampires did, made her feel like a vampire. She also felt tainted, violated, and wretched.
"Why do I even want to know if the room's available?" Seras thought. "I guess I just want to make sure he hasn't died."
The typist came back and said the room was available, and the proprietor wanted to know if Seras wanted to reserve a time.
Seras hesitated. Her first thought was "NO!" but she had a feeling she might want to check in later. Having a time set aside meant she could peek in without having the proprietor hovering over her shoulder, trying to get her to choose the most expensive one.
Shyness had been what provoked her to ask the typist to check for her, and shyness was what provoked Seras to walk timidly along the hall, stopping to talk to no one, asking for help from no one, and wanting to be seen by no one.
She hovered a little outside the door, wondering what she wanted to see, what she expected to see. Part of her feared what he would think on seeing her again. What he would expect from her. Did he expect her to put out, or...?
She heard shower water running, as soft as drizzling rain drops on cement. She felt and smelled no steam, meaning the water was cold. She eventually heard the loud rusted screech of a faucet turning, and the water ceased. Shen then heard fabric scraping against flesh. Eventually she summoned the courage to peek in from the crack in the doorway.
She saw the human turned from her, dressed in nothing but faded, ripped boxer shorts and a ragged towel draped across his shoulders. Hi skin was wet, and his braid hung like a drowned cat down his back.
"Whenever you're ready, come in and sit down," he said without turning around.
Seras gasped, and felt her blood rush to her face. He was just a human, and she'd made sure not to make a sound, so how did he know she was there?
She timidly stepped in, afraid her mere presence might disturb something, and looked around. It was like a dark little prison cell. A perfect square room of cold, damp concrete, with cracks along the walls and floors and roaches scurrying between them. A steel spring bed was set against a wall. On the bed sprawled a coarse, thin mattress, filled with holes, littered with stuffing ripped out of it, and blotched with huge blood stains all over.
Seras winced on seeing it. She noticed the mattress hung crookedly on the bedframe, as though broken, and there was only one raggedy blanket bundled off to the side.
The whole room smelled of damp concrete, with the stronger smells of blood, sweat, body odour, tobacco smoke, and... something. Seras felt her face go warm again.
Beside the bed sat a broken wooden nightstand with two drawers, supposedly to keep his things. At a corner end of the room a shower head stuck out of the wall, while a little round drain sat in the center of the room. Most of the floor was covered with water. No wonder it was damp in here.
The human stood near the shower, absently dabbing his cheek with the towel that was draped over his shoulders. She could see the scars over his body clear as day. After a moment he gave up drying, and lit a cigarette lethargically.
He still looked much worn out. He stood in such a way that betrayed a desire to collapse. He then shambled over to his bed, and half-sat, half-flopped down onto it.
He was missing an eye.
Not sure what else to do, Seras sat on the floor opposite of him.
He took a deep drag of his cigarette and regarded her evenly.
"So..." he said.
"So..." she squeaked.
He shifted. She noticed he sat with his legs spread, and leaned back so he was propped on his elbows, so she could see the wounds that covered his bony chest and legs. He tilted his neck so she could see the savage bite marks that marred his flesh, from collar to chin.
"How do you want to do this?" he asked.
"Um..."
After a respectable silence he asked, "Are you a righty or a leftie?"
"A what?" she squeaked.
"Righty or lefty? Do you tilt your head toward the right when you bite, or the left?" he pointed to his neck, "I've been bit more on the right—your right, that is. It's more popular to bite there, so you might want it. However, if you like flesh that's less torn up, your right will do."
"I... I don't want to drink from you," Seras flushed.
She wondered if he even had the blood to spare.
He only lifted an eyebrow, and took another drag of his cigarette.
"Then what do you want?"
"Um..." she felt suddenly extremely stupid, awkward and embarrassed.
She had no idea. She'd never done this before. Well, not true, she had been to the Captain's quarters just a few nights ago. But she still was completely unprepared for this. She didn't even know what to ask for!
He kept looking at her calmly, then widened his eye in mild surprise. "Are you blushing?"
This only made it worse. "N-no!"
"You are, aren't you?" he sat up to get a better look.
Now her face was smoldering like melted metal. "NO!"
She covered her face with her hands, which just made it worse.
"Heh," he laughed, and tapped a spare bit of ash off the end of his cigarette. "I've never seen a vampire that blushes."
"Well, you clearly don't get out much!"
She winced as soon as she said it.
The crooked half-smile dropped from his face, and his eye narrowed. "Clearly."
Seras winced. Now she'd done it.
If she had just said she was sorry, things might have been different. Instead, she tried to explain. "What I mean is, I'm a new vampire."
By about seven months, but who was counting?
"Oh," he sneered, "Is that all?"
Seras looked away.
More silence.
"So do you want to start with the arm, or...?"
"I don't know, all right?" she snapped.
He shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette.
"Take your time, then."
"I will!"
More awkward silence.
He seemed very calm and detached, which only made her more tightly strung.
"This your first time?" he asked.
She frowned as she blushed. "Yeah."
"And you decided to do it here?"
"I haven't decided anything!" Seras snapped.
Even to this one human in this private room in the darkest part of the dungeon, she still couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye or even incline toward him.
He snorted. "Clearly."
"Look, if that's the way you're going to be, you can stay here by yourself," she snapped.
He shrugged, "Fine by me."
"Very well!" she said.
Now her pride was hurt and the only way to save it was to stand and leave.
"Nice talking to you!" he said on her way out.
Seras spun around in the hallway, thought about turning back, then huffed and stormed back out.
Then she caught a second wind, stuck her head through the door and said, "You know, I was thinking about helping you, but with that attitude you can just sit there!" and she took off before he could respond.
Embarrassment increased the further she ran up the stairs and into the castle, until full-blown mortification flooded her once she reached her coffin. She felt the weight of the stupidity of her every word and action down there press more tightly on her with every passing minute, until she felt sure it would crush her. She also felt guilt and embarrassment over what she had said.
She didn't even know what came over her. It wasn't that big of a deal, and he wasn't even that rude. She was just so embarrassed and didn't handle it well. She was pretty used to mockery and humiliations by this point, but they were all from her master and the vampire court, who were all superiors to her in every way. She had to just sit there and take it, and had learned to do so.
This human made fun of her, and part of her felt like accepting, while another part felt this was a human who was there because she paid for his time (it's important to note that Seras thought of it as paying for his time and not for his body), and she didn't feel like she had to take it. She put up with it from her master because she had to, but she didn't have to from him, darn it!
So then, why couldn't she stop thinking of him? Involuntarily turning their encounter over and over in her mind?
She was sure he quite forgot her, or thought her an amusing fool to laugh about when things grew rough, but her...?
The visit had been extremely awkward. She never touched him, never drank from him. He seemed only vaguely aware of her; almost contemptuous of her. He barely looked at her, and what little he did was in amazement at seeing a vampire that blushed, then contempt for pointing out his lack of freedom. Every word held a hint of mockery that she didn't like at all.
While she doubted he could afford to do so overtly, he was such a vaguely unpleasant jerk she'd planned to put the whole thing out of her mind, but she still couldn't stop thinking about him. The visit only increased her curiosity for him, not lessened it.
She was also haunted by those scars; those slashes, those bites, those bruises. That wet but bruised skin. That anemic physique. The kind one gets only when they're so drained of blood that all the soft, supple buoyancy is gone. What little he had left seemed to seep out of his untreated bite wounds and slashes. The infected wounds that weren't healed with his "shower."
She remembered how broken down and blood-stained his bed was, and how wounded his body was, and she could only imagine he wasn't used very well. He was one of the cheapest of the cheap, barely worth considering. Just a war criminal who was to carry out his punishment in the basement till he was all used up and fed to the ghouls.
Her stomach clenched in concern for him. She could only imagine how far along he was. She had no idea how long he'd been there, how long he'd endured this, nor how long he could keep it up.
Every night she worried that somewhere far below, he was finally drained of blood and turned into a ghoul. That he'd been used up like a medical blood bag and had the empty bag thrown to the garbage shoot; in this case, the ghouls.
Every day, she dreamed he'd been used up by some client and left to die. She imagined him lying dead in his broken bed, draped across it with his one eye open. That some beautiful Bride rode him relentlessly till he snapped like a broken toy, then left his lifeless corpse there to rot.
Seras often woke gasping in horror, tears streaming down her eyes, because these dreams were not so different from the memories of her parents' murder.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Seras didn't care if it was foolish, if other vampires laughed at her, if he thought her stupid.
She bought another hour with him, then used her untouched salary to buy a whole basket of human food, medicine, and medical blood. (Yes, vampires still had those. They made a quick easy snack when humans weren't available, or the ones around them were too drained, or even to rejuvenate favored human servants that had been drained too much too quickly.) His blood type had been on the military dog tag he wore around his neck, as all humans had to do.
On her next day off, she paid for his time, walked over to his room, and stormed in.
He just took a shower. Good.
"Here," she said, and pushed the basket in his face.
"Qui est...?" he said with surprise.
"It's for you," she said as sternly as she could. "I bought it. Now eat it."
He looked at her in shock then looked inside.
Since vampires had taken over the world, humans primarily ate fresh produce picked from human-run farms. Processed human food made in factories and cooked meals from restaurants was as good as dead. Since vampires were masters of the world but didn't eat, and considered solid food just a means to keep their own food alive (much the way we consider grass, hay, feed, and other non-edibles essential just to keep our cows and chickens alive), they set human slaves to run produce and occasional animal farms. Said produce was distributed for humans in vampire abodes around the world to either cook or eat raw.
Since it was the middle of winter, the basket was filled with green winter produce. Green lettuce, spinach, kale, and peas. She had thought about getting broccoli, carrots, beats, and apples, but thought he looked like he hadn't eaten in so long it might be hard on his stomach. So she stuck to leafy greens that were rich in vitamins and nutrients but were light and easy to digest.
"I hear the greener something is, the healthier it is." Realizing that was overly simplistic, she added, "You look like you've lost too much blood, and leafy greens are filled with vitamins and minerals that help make more. The darker the color, the more vitamin-rich. So, I thought I'd give you that. It'll help fight the infection too, and I brought medicine and medical blood."
He looked at her in shock, and pushed them aside to see more. There was also skin ointment to treat his open wounds, fresh strips of linen to wrap up, and a few bags of medical blood of his type.
He looked at her. "You're juicing me up before you take a drink?"
She balked. The bluntness of the question just knocked the wind right out of her.
"... Yes," she finally said.
If that inspired more fear, and thus respect, and thus obedience, then sure.
"You know I have other customers, right?" he asked. "They feed of me too."
"I know," she said. "That's why I rented you for the week."
His eye and mouth widened in shock. "You did what?!"
"... I figured you needed the break," she said.
He just stared at her in shock.
"... You weren't that expensive," Seras explained sheepishly.
Honestly, the medical blood and ointment was more expensive.
When he didn't say anything else, she continued. "Look, you're in really poor shape, and I didn't know how much longer you'd last. So, you have a week off to recover. Eat your leafy greens, then move onto more hardy foods when you're ready. I've got more waiting for you. I'll treat your wounds - or you can if you want," she blushed, then took a deep breath and continued, "And I've got some medical blood to speed things up. I figure then you'll have a chance."
He let it all sink in for several minutes, just staring at the basket. Finally, he shook his head and pushed the basket away.
"Look, this is... unexpected..."
"I know," she said.
Even she was a little shocked by the impulsiveness of her decision.
With effort, he shrugged off his shock and resumed the cool nonchalance of his earlier demeanor.
"Look, if this is some misguided attempt at being noble..."
"What do you mean?" she snapped.
"Look, you're obviously new to being a vampire," he said. "So, if this is to ease your own guilt of feeding off someone..."
"It's not..." she flushed, "I just want you healthy, that's all."
"Why, so you can feed on me?"
She was silent.
He just looked at her, then closed his eyes and leaned back. "Look, if this is some misguided attempt at being nice..."
"It's not!" Seras snapped, "So just eat your vegetables!"
He snorted. "When did you become my mother?"
"When I rented you out for the week. I'm in charge when I rent your time, right? So do what I say and get healthy!"
He snorted, but this time it was in amusement.
The rest of the visit was almost as awkward as the first one. Seras' first priority was to get him to eat, so with a little half-smile he gathered the leafy greens and placed them in a large thin bowl she had placed at the bottom of the basket for this very situation.
"Isn't it a good idea to rinse them first?" he asked.
Seras hadn't thought of that, so ran the shower head over them and brought them back.
He ripped out handfuls of leaves of each kind, twisted and shredded them to make them bite-sized
"What, no salad dressing?" he teased.
"I didn't know where to find any..." she confessed.
"Are you kidding? There's plenty you can make with basic oils, spices and vinegars."
"Well, if you want to give me a recipe, I'll find it for you," she said a little peevishly.
He did just that, and she rather humbly agreed to bring some back next time she came down.
"So I still have to eat this crap?"
"Yes! It's good for you!" she retorted.
He groaned.
He was extremely hungry though. Due to his starvation the bitter leaves tasted much better than he expected, and he wolfed them down as much as he was able.
He was truly malnourished. For food, he was tossed moldy old bread, cheese, and other kitchen scraps that humans didn't eat but the vampires wanted to get rid of, and he only drank water from his shower head. More popular prostitutes with more wealthy clientele got better food, drinks, and gifts. Those with more generous clients got rewarded with treats and gifts for their exceptional services. Some vampires came into the Captain's room with fresh steaks, some came to Rip Van Winkle and other girls and brought her gift baskets of luxurious bubble bath supplies, perfume, sexy lingerie they wanted her to wear, etc.
Since he was the cheapest of the cheap, subject to the meanest and poorest of the sadistic, the best he got was a discarded cigarette or mostly empty pack after his client enjoyed a post-coital smoke. Or, if he was clever, he got packs of cigarettes as a tip for offering some insidious service that his client had not thought of.
While he was poorly fed and missed having the occasional drink to take the edge off, his tobacco addiction came first. Since his clients weren't the most generous, he was willing to forgo the chance at getting better food or alcoholic drinks if it meant getting more cigarettes.
He had long given up on even thinking it possible that a client might award him a more elaborate gift that more prestigious "prosti-dudes" got to enjoy.
Then she walked in, and propped a basket of medicine and healthy food right into his lap, after hunkering against the wall, blushing and fuming awkwardly at everything he said.
While he ate, she unwrapped the bandages. It was rather awkward for both of them (mostly her) as she unwrapped the linens and removed the ointment.
"Would you rather apply it after I leave, or should I now?"
"Do whatever you want," he said, and scooped another mouthful of smooshed greens into his mouth.
"Which would you prefer?" she demanded.
He widened his eye, then shrugged. "You can do it, I guess."
Since he just took a shower, she didn't necessarily have to run water over the injuries before applying the ointment. Still, she wetted one of the clothes and wiped the wounds before gently applying the ointment and wrapping them up with fresh linens when she could. She mostly just did this for his arms and legs. Her face felt very warm through the whole thing, especially when she got to the chest, but did so without flinching.
She surprised him again by bringing oral medicine (though only one pill) she expected him to eat with his food.
"You know too many anti-biotics at once can be bad for the body, right?" he said.
"Well then, you'd better start eating to balance it out," she said.
He blinked.
Once he was safely bandaged up, she found a clear spot on his arm, scrubbed it with a wet linen strip, and took out the medical blood, needle and IV.
"Do you know how to apply this?" he asked.
"Of course, I was a police officer once," she said.
He blinked. "I didn't know police officers received medical training."
"Of course, we've all been trained in basic first aid," she said. "And I've seen this done many times."
He blinked again, then scooted away.
"Get back here!" Seras snapped, and pulled him back.
He laughed. "Just don't shred an artery and make me bleed out, all right? I don't have much to spare."
"Why do you think I'm doing this?" she practically screamed.
"Hey, hey," he said in a calm voice, and gently placed his hand under her chin and directed her to look up at him.
She had been tense and irritable through the whole thing, despite the kind thing she was doing, and now looked extremely flustered. He was afraid she would tear up his arm trying to find the vein; but, by the same token, he had a feeling she didn't even fully realize the good thing she was doing, how little there was to be embarrassed about, and how little she had to fear from ridicule.
She finally looked into his eyes, and he saw fear, vulnerability, self-consciousness, and... concern for him. She seemed ready to cry.
He smiled gently. "It's all right, you're doing a good thing." He gently rubbed her arm. "I'm grateful for all the help, really. You don't have to feel so self-conscious. You're doing a great job, really."
She sighed, and smiled gently, and he felt there was a connection between them for the first time.
Seras wound up doing surprisingly well. She found the vein after he rubbed on his own arm to warm it up (it was cold in the dungeon), managed to stick the needle in without rupturing the vein, and indeed got the IV in. She remained until after the first medical bag was empty, and he chewed on the leaves throughout.
"It tastes like shit," he complained.
During the worst of our hunger, anything tastes good. However, the fuller and fuller we get, the more we realize how terrible something normally tastes.
"Well, eat it, it's good for you," Seras said.
He laughed. "Can do, ma cher."
"And don't call me ma cher," she snapped.
He grinned; a genuine, heart-felt, shines from the eyes smile. "All right."
With Pip fed, bandaged, given anti-biotics, and a bag of transfusion medical blood, Seras left him to get some rest.
She came in the same time every day for the next week, after every night of work was over. She gave him a new basket of food at the start of every visit. She gave him medical blood from one bag every night for the next three nights, to make sure he got enough but very slowly. He had been so drained. She also re-anointed his wounds, though she didn't necessarily have to un-bandage or clean them since he un-bandaged and rinsed himself off since he showered before she showed up, every time.
Seras noticed he didn't have any proper soap, shampoo, conditioner, or brush for his hair, so one day she brought in her daily basket.
"Bathroom soap, really?" he asked when he looked into the basket that night.
Seras blushed, but raised her head as though to say she stood by her decision.
"What, no loofa?" he teased.
"I don't even know what that is," she said.
"It's a thing where you... Oh, never mind," he said.
He saw her plain, tomboyish attire. Today she wore high-waisted jeans, a dark grey three-quarter sleeved belly shirt, and a jean jacket. She probably really didn't know what it was.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
There was still a rather tense, awkwardness between them. Seras was still embarrassed and unsure how to behave because interacting with a prostitute ("not prosti-dude," she thought) whose time she paid for was completely new territory. Pip still had no idea how to react to her because she didn't seem to know what she wanted. What's more, he was not used to a vampire who paid to drink and screw from him doing anything beyond merely biting, draining, fucking and leaving.
"Yeah..." He then smirked. "I don't suppose you want to lather me up?"
Like flipping a switch, her face instantly turned beat red. "Absolutely not!"
He laughed.
"Well, I have to use this some time, or would you rather wait till after you leave?"
"It's yours, do whatever you want with it," she said.
"Yeah, but you're paying for my time, remember? That makes you in charge," he grinned.
"Oh, must you throw everything I say back in my face?" she exclaimed.
He laughed again. She was so cute when she got flustered.
"Well, we have nothing but time to kill till you leave. So, unless you'd like to sit and watch me eat, this is as good an activity as any."
By now, it had been several days since she first came in. He no longer needed blood transfusions, his wounds had healed enough that they no longer needed constant care, and his nutrition and appetite had improved enough that he could get more hardy foods, like solid slices of whole grain bread, carrots, broccoli, beats, and apples. Such foods were hard to chew though, so Seras kindly asked the kitchen staff to cube and steam the solid vegetables before she brought them down to him.
He was rather touched by the sentiment.
"I also brought a small knife, so you can slice the apples," Seras said.
"Just do whatever you want," Seras blushed.
He grinned roguishly and scooted closer to her. "I think I will..."
"Not like that!" she snapped, and pushed him away. "Just shower if you want, I'll be outside!"
"Aw, and you don't want to see the fruits of your labors as I bathe without you?"
"I'll see you after you're done!" she said, and moved out.
He chuckled.
Pip liked seeing her flustered, but he had to admit she was a mistress of mixed messages. She did nice things for him, which he felt sure meant she wanted some favor in return, but she always refused it. She brought blood-nourishing foods and blood transfusion bags, which he felt sure meant she wanted to make him tastier for when she drank his blood - but so far she didn't bite. (Literally.) She brought ointments for his wounds, which he felt meant she wanted a chance to rub him up as foreplay while they descended into having sex - but she hissed like a cat and got extremely snappy and irritable if he tried to touch her or come onto her while she dabbed it onto his skin.
In fact, she was extremely stiff and awkward any time she came near him, yet she looked at him with desire when she stood on the other side of the room. He saw the way she blushed and ran her eyes over him like a starstruck school girl, and looked deeply hungry and licked her lips whens he saw a trickle of blood, but she tried to act like it wasn't true when he addressed it. In fact, asking her yielded mixed results. When he asked as bluntly as he dared if she wanted to do something she said no, but if he asked if she was doing it out of kindness she insisted she just wanted him healthy. He was getting healthy and she had her chance to take him, so what gives?
And now she brought proper shower supplies, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to have shower sex - and she rather predictably but confusingly snapped at him when he brought it up.
The fact that she was a vampire that rented his time was, perhaps, the only reason he didn't try to make her answer to clear the air.
Her indecision and mixed messages made a rather tense atmosphere during the first week that could have been cleared had she been able to talk more openly. Yet, little did Pip know, she was receiving far worse ridicule upstairs, and so when she came down here she was hyper sensitive to mockery and criticism, and tried so hard to put on a show of being unable to embarrass.
Being rather easy-going, Pip shrugged and let it slide.
With the new shower supplies he was able to finally able to work up a lather and finally scrub soapy, bubbly circles into his skin and hair for the first time in ages. Also to take large handfuls of conditioner and work it into his coarse, cracked, dried hair.
Washing the hair was an absolute nightmare because he had grown it so long, but had not had a chance to properly wash or comb it in forever. Over time he found it was just easier to keep it braided 24/7, so it didn't become too tangled like when it was down. Yet, it still got loose and tangled in certain places, and it was easier to just leave it alone or weave it back into the braid than try to brush it out with his fingers.
Having nothing better to do, he sat on the bed and smoked while Seras knelt behind him and brushed the dread-knots out of his hair.
"I never thought the day would come that I'd be brushed like one of your Barbies," he said.
"I never had a Barbie," Seras grimaced.
"Really? Never?"
"I couldn't stand them. I liked stuffed animals better," Seras said.
"Well then, today is your lucky day," he said, and leaned over to her grinning suggestively. "I'm like a Ken doll, but with whooole package."
"Ugh, don't!" she snapped, and pushed his head forward and gave his tangles a sharp pull with the brush. "If that's the way you're going to be, you can tame this beast yourself."
"Ooooh, tame the beast..."
"You know what I mean!" she snapped.
He laughed and apologized. "I'm joking, I'm joking. I'm sorry, it's all right. I'll hold still, I promise."
She sighed, then got to work.
At first it was very awkward and slow-going, but since there was nothing to do, they eventually eased into a pleasant silence.
"Let me know if it hurts," Seras said, and clutched a handful near the bottom and carefully brushed at the frays.
"All right," he said.
It took extremely long though. He had been in such poor shape for so long.
Seras seemed to like having such a simple task to do though, and eventually eased into it.
When he winced a few times but didn't say anything, she said, "I told you to tell me when it hurts!"
"Heh, I've experienced worse pulls than this," he said.
"I'm sure you have, but that doesn't mean you should just suffer in silence when I hurt you," Seras said earnestly. "Tell me next time."
"All right," he said.
And she got back to work.
After a while he said, "You know, it also feels good when you run your fingers through it."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, especially when you work your way higher and higher... till you reach the top and run your fingers through the scalp. Massage slow circles, and run your fingers from top to bottom..."
He grinned, waiting for her to get the innuendo.
"All right," Seras frowned, "I'll do that when I get far enough then, but I haven't even gotten halfway up."
He laughed. She made so many double entendres and didn't even know it! It was also part of her charm.
"All right then, take your time," he grinned.
He wondered if she got that one too, but she just kept working in silence.
Part of why Pip liked talking to her was he liked testing to see how many sexual innuendos he could get away with using before she got on, got embarrassed, snapped at him, and told him to stop. He found it amusing either way. When she didn't notice and when she did, when she caught on but let it slide and when she got so embarrassed she snapped at him to stop. It was fun no matter what.
Eventually they eased into a rather comfortable silence though.
"Why do you grow your hair so long, anyway?" Seras asked.
"Eh, personal reasons - superstition, you could say. I haven't cut it since the day I became a mercenary."
She paused. "You're a mercenary?"
"Was," he admitted. "It's a family tradition. Since my grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's time. It was bound to happen eventually."
"How awful!" Seras cried.
"Eh, it wasn't my choice," he shrugged. "I didn't choose the family I was born into. In fact, I did not even find out I was from a mercenary family until I was twelve years old, and by then I was not exactly thrilled about it. But you know, in the end, I chose to become one of my own volition. I went in knowing what the risks and consequences were, and went ahead with it anyway."
"How could you?" Seras cried, "How could you kill people?"
"Heh," he chuckled, "I asked my grandfather the same question, when I found up. But, I guess one day I figured it out. I chose to go out into battlefields all across the world, fighting in one battlefield after another, killing men and seeing my own men killed, for cheap coin and the fun of it."
"Fun? That's awful," Seras spat, and she threw his hair back.
"Heh, spoken by the vampire."
"I'VE NEVER ENJOYED IT!" Seras snapped, and he realized he'd pressed a very serious button.
He smiled sadly. He took her scorn as his due. "Yeah, well... If it makes you feel better, I'm paying for it. I went from battlefield to battlefield around the world, took up arms against many men for a number of reasons... Though one night I took on a contract with some employers, who resented the spread of vampirism. 'Day-fighters,' they called themselves. Most of my men were killed. Those that weren't died so slowly and painfully, I'll bet they wished they were every second of their wretched lives. As for me? They kept me because I'm handsome. Because I could fetch a price."
Seras was silent for a long time. She let his words seep in, and then mulled it around in her head.
Finally, she said, "No one deserves this."
He snorted, "And yet, you're here."
"Have I ever used you poorly?" she demanded, half-defensive and half-panicked.
"Non," he said gently, "quite the opposite, you..."
He trailed off.
Seras had the good graces not to ask.
After a long silence she set back to brushing his hair, her own heavy with her own thoughts.
"Do you ever hate vampires, for what we did to you?" she asked.
He thought about it for a while. How much was safe to say to her, how much was safe to say out loud. "... Sometimes..." he finally admitted, "But then again, like I said, I made the choice for myself. I made the choice to become a mercenary, and I made the choice to fight against vampires. I can't very well complain about the consequences of my actions."
"But don't you hate it?" Seras asked. "Being down here? Being a slave to... to..."
He laughed bitterly. "You do not spend this long in my line of work, and fail to find pleasure in the meanest circumstances. I've spent weeks on end fighting in the hot, humid jungles of Uganda; months in the hottest, driest sand trap you could ever imagine. I've learned to find the simple pleasures in even the ugliest circumstances; the greatest reward in the lowliest pay."
He was pouring his heart out to her, as vile and soiled as he saw it. "For a dirt-cheap piece of shit pay, I traveled from battle to battle, all around the world. For a dirt-cheap piece of shit pay, I killed and was killed. For just the pleasure of a hot meal and cold drink, I crawled through the bug-infested underbrush of the African jungle and got bit to hell when I wasn't sniped. For just the pleasure of the ugliest, stingiest whores of the most run-down crapshack of a brothel you've ever seen, I several weeks of straight fighting through straight barrages and street bombs. I still can't get the ringing out of my ears. And now, for a few cigarettes and scraps of bread, I let vampires crawl all over me, drinking my blood and ravishing my body as they bring me to masochistic orgasm."
He grimaced, "I guess you could say I was the scum of the earth when I was up there, and now the I'm scum in a vampire's basement."
"I don't think you're scum," Seras said.
Her soft, kind words touched something in him.
"Well... you'd be the first to think that. But thank you."
She hesitated, then ran her fingers through his hair.
